


Doppelganger

by My_Alter_Ego



Series: White Collar Discussions [9]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Counterfeit currency, Gen, High-end auctions, hypotheticals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 07:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21370333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: Peter suddenly suspects that Neal and Mozzie are behind a serious bit of counterfeiting. A “face to face” confrontation is of little help, so Peter finds himself not quite sure what to do with the felonious pair.
Relationships: Neal Caffrey & Mozzie, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Series: White Collar Discussions [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472945
Comments: 16
Kudos: 32





	Doppelganger

**Author's Note:**

> This short fiction was inspired by a real life story I read in the news in February of this year. The original premise is true, but I must admit that I shamelessly embellished the tale with my own fictional details.

It had been a long, tedious day at the White Collar office, and Peter was glad to be back in his townhouse in Brooklyn. Well, almost glad. El was absent instead of keeping the home fires burning. She was presiding over some social function for Burke’s Premier Events, so Peter had to make do with Satchmo, who was less than scintillating company. Peter’s doting wife had left a casserole in the fridge, and after nuking it, he grabbed a lap tray, a bottle of beer, and sat down on the couch to watch the evening news. FOX Network was highlighting an interesting little story in its broadcast after all the trending political hoopla had been addressed ad nauseum. This public interest tidbit about an upcoming rare currency auction captured Peter’s attention. Valuable old bank notes weren’t really Peter’s thing. As a kid, stamp collecting had been his hobby. Neal could snark all he wanted that being a philatelist was nerdy, but being a geek had gotten Peter’s beautiful wife’s attention, so who was the winner in that contest?

Peter watched intently as pictures of rare paper currency from the 19th century flashed up on the television screen. Experts had termed these items “Rainbow” notes because of their appearance of a rainbow-like color achieved by the utilization of a bluish ink tint on the face and the concentration of colored threads in the paper. Green and red inks had also been used throughout the design giving them that peculiar and distinctive look. Apparently, these little gems were rare finds and their mere existence on the market meant that avid collectors with very deep pockets would certainly covet them.

There were three items in all. One was a $1000 Rainbow Note from 1869 depicting a picture of DeWitt Clinton, the person who oversaw the construction of the Erie Canal during his tenure as the sixth governor of New York. Another article to be placed on the auction block was a $500 denomination Rainbow Note of President John Quincy Adams situated opposite an allegorical depiction of the figure of Justice. The last piece of monetary memorabilia was another $1000 Note of William L. Marcy, also a former governor of New York.

The television broadcast hadn’t lingered on the images for very long. Each was shown for probably less than fifteen seconds, but Peter was trained to quickly spot suspicious-looking things, and, although he wasn’t entirely sure, his sense of troubling doubt had been piqued. He opened his laptop after he had finished his dinner and played a video of the broadcast over and over, even stopping it from time to time to study the images more closely. Finally, he enlarged each bill and then printed them out. They certainly weren’t high-quality photos, by any stretch of the imagination, so he would have to use more sophisticated technology when he returned to the Bureau in the morning. In the meantime, he conducted some research into the $1000 note bearing DeWitt Clinton’s picture.

Peter tenacious probing was enlightening. The “DeWitt” was last auctioned in 1946, and it was the only one of the three to be in private hands. Originally, it had been part of Texas millionaire Amon Carter’s collection. Now Sotheby’s was about to find a new home for it, and, if the savvy pundits were correct, it would go for millions.

The portrait of the old governor wasn’t particularly flattering. His frowning visage contained within the small oval showed a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and the beginnings of a double chin. His right hand was splayed on the side of his head making him look like he was suffering from a migraine, and perhaps that was the reason for the turned down mouth. Nevertheless, attractive or not, Peter found his portrait riveting.

~~~~~~~~~~

At the end of the following workday, Peter gave Neal the two-fingered summons. The con man trotted up the stairs to his handler’s office, and when he saw the look on Peter’s face, he began to wonder if any of his latest little transgressions had somehow been unearthed. However, Peter didn’t seem to be interested in any of Neal’s shenanigans—at least not directly.

“Neal, I want to see Mozzie in your loft tonight,” Peter said with steel in his voice. “8 pm sharp!”

“Um, I’m not quite sure where Moz may be at the present time,” Neal waffled. At this juncture, an apprehensive CI needed more information before making any commitments.

“Don’t give me any of that crap, Neal. _Just make it so!”_ Peter said forcefully.

Neal was taken aback by Peter’s strident tone. “Aye, aye, Captain Picard,” he answered obediently, no doubt referring to the fictional Star Trek captain of the USS Enterprise. _“Make it so!”_ had been actor Patrick Stewart’s iconic line when he portrayed the Star Ship captain in the old television series.

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter arrived at Neal’s precisely at 8 pm with a folder in hand. Mozzie was there with a wine glass in his own hand looking put upon.

“I am not one of your lackeys, Suit!” the little bald man said haughtily. “I’m only here because I’m curious, and my presence in your company is most definitely not because you snapped your fingers.”

“You are here,” Peter said menacingly, “because of this travesty.”

After that portentous pronouncement, Peter withdrew an enlarged and very graphically clear and precise photograph of the DeWitt Clinton Rainbow Note. He tossed it onto the table and both Neal and Mozzie bent over to peruse it curiously, neither looking very impressed. Of course, they wouldn’t look guilty of a thing; poker faces were the pair’s stock in trade.

Neal glanced up innocently. “What’s with of all this drama over a picture of an old bank note, Peter? Am I missing a point lurking somewhere.”

“Yeah, it’s on the top of his head,” Mozzie mumbled under his breath before moving away to put some distance between himself, the item in question, and Peter’s scowl.

“This bank note doesn’t contain a picture of DeWitt Clinton,” Peter growled. “The likeness on this supposedly rare bill is _you_, Mozzie, in all your less than splendid glory!”

“Personally, I just don’t see it,” Neal remarked nonchalantly as he took another gander. “I think it may look somewhat similar to Moz, but that’s really stretching it.”

Mozzie had meandered back to the table to take a second glance. “I’ll grant you that the man looks scholarly and has an air of aristocratic gravitas about him, but I think that’s where the similarities end,” he said with a smirk.

“That _is_ you, Mozzie. The only anomaly is that you’re sporting a bit of hair on your bald little head!” Peter insisted with certainty.

“Look, Suit, whatever you think you see is just a fluke of nature,” Mozzie insisted. “Everybody in this world has someone who could pass as their doppelganger. I can show you the statistics on that phenomenon.”

“God, please save me if there may be more than one of you traipsing around,” Peter moaned. “If either you or Neal has an evil twin, I doubt my sanity would survive intact.”

“Oh, come on, Peter. It would just be twice the fun,” Neal said happily, but the irritated FBI agent chose to ignore that disturbing remark.

“When did you guys make the switch with the real Rainbow Note?” Peter fairly shouted trying to get this train back on track. Unfortunately, he continued to be met with two blank faces.

“Mozzie,” Peter finally threatened, “I could take you and Neal in right now for counterfeiting federal currency.”

“Nice try, Suit,” Mozzie scoffed, “but you don’t have any real proof of _any _crime.”

“Then what do you call this?” Peter insisted as he pointed to the DeWitt Clinton/Mozzie’s image.

“A coincidence and a case of mistaken identity,” Mozzie scoffed.

Peter looked homicidal, so Neal quickly distracted his handler.

“You’d have to prove to the Treasury Department that it’s a forgery,” Neal said calmly. “Counterfeiting an almost two hundred year old bill is not very easy to do. The paper would have to contain all the right concentrations of the properly aged inks, not to mention the rag content would have to be scrupulously reproduced. It’s an almost impossible task for a paperhanger.”

“Almost impossible for most paperhanger forgers, but not for you and your little sidekick,” Peter said evenly.

“Is that an accusation?” Mozzie challenged. “I mean, Neal and I appreciate your backhanded compliment extolling our theoretical expertise, but it’s all just supposition on your part. You have no concrete proof that either of us have done anything of a criminal nature.”

“Maybe we’ll just see about that,” Peter announced ominously.

“Suit, stop concocting a tempest in a teapot,” Mozzie hastened to add. “Why don’t we talk in hypotheticals?”

Peter sighed dramatically. “Sure, Haversham, let’s visit the world of make believe. Entertain me with a fairy tale story.”

“Well, let’s start with the facts,” Mozzie began in a rational voice. “The last time this bill changed hands was when the Texas dude bought it. A nefarious swap certainly could have occurred way back in 1946, long before Neal, myself, or even you, Suit, was a lecherous gleam in a father’s eye.”

“That may be true, but there is also a more likely, as well as a more recent timeframe, for a clandestine little heist to have taken place,” Peter claimed. “That scenario gets my vote,” he added firmly.

“Okay, I’ll pander to your suspicious paranoia,” Mozzie simpered. _“Hypothetically_, let’s just say the swap was made in this century. It may have occurred years ago, and need I remind you that the federal statute of limitation on counterfeiting is five years. Do the math, Mr. Numbers Guy. Neal was in prison for four years and has been tied to you and New York ever since you sprung him. No trips to the Lone Star state for him. So, we’re way past any legal repercussions _if_ we _hypothetically_ had anything to do with this thing.”

“Give me some time and I’ll find something to charge you with,” Peter vowed.

“Peter, why are you so upset?” Neal asked innocently. “Look at the big picture. Somebody is willing to part with a piece of paper and other people really want to buy it. Mozzie and I are not going to be profiting from any transactions that occur when that takes place. Nobody is going to get hurt. If anything, two auction participants will wind up being as happy as pigs in mud because they got, or think they got, exactly what they wanted.”

“But you two crooks probably did make a hefty profit in the past, and fraud is fraud, Neal,” Peter stated firmly, “I want you within grabbing distance, Buddy, when this deceitful transaction takes place. You’re going to be right by my side to make it easy for me to put the cuffs on!”

~~~~~~~~~~

And that’s exactly how it went down a week later. A handsome young man in a sharp vintage suit sat fidgeting beside a serious older one in bland Brooks Brothers attire as they watched the auction begin. The vetted and legitimate bidders were quite serious and had come prepared, and there were several people on the phone acting as stand-ins for their distant clients. During the proceedings, the William L. Marcy note went for a stupendous seven million when the gavel finally came down. There was a sort of hushed exuberant appreciation among the clientele. The John Quincy Adams bill sold for slightly less, but the excited crowd still was impressed. Finally, the questionable item in Peter’s mind was presented to the eager audience. This would be the assembled collectors’ final chance to obtain a piece of rare historical memorabilia.

The auctioneer’s head began swiveling back and forth during the parry and thrust of various dueling bids. He needed his expertise of quickly scanning the crowd for discrete nods or the twitch of a finger. Most seasoned participants didn’t even raise their paddles. That overt action was saved for when they could victoriously wave it in triumph if they won the prize. Finally, the tense match concluded when a guy from California ultimately emerged the victor in the fray. He pledged to pay an exorbitant seven figure amount for his new treasure.

Peter had prudently obtained a list of all the registered bidders beforehand just to make sure Mozzie hadn’t slipped a ringer into the situation. Peter knew that the winner, a Los Angeles native, was an entrepreneur who had fortuitously invested in Bitcoin during it’s infancy, but then got out with a bundle before things leveled out. Peter dragged his CI with him when he approached the new owner of the $1000 Rainbow bill. He flashed his badge and FBI credentials as the guy was making his exit clutching a leather diploma-type case protectively to his chest.

“Wow,” the man enthused. “You government people are really taking security issues to heart.”

“Sir, may I take a look at what is in that case?” Peter asked solemnly.

“Sure, why not,” came the quick reply. “I’m more than willing to let an admirer feast an eye on what I now own,” the man crowed. “The old gent on the bank note is certainly no prize in the looks department, but that doesn’t diminish his value.”

Of course, the quite familiar Mozzie doppelganger rested within the case behind a clear, acid-free protective covering. “Sir, how certain are you that you have purchased the legitimate DeWitt Clinton Rainbow Note?” Peter asked skeptically.

“I think a whole lot of people have already authenticated it,” the California man replied easily. “Are you implying that you have doubts, Agent?”

“Perhaps I may be entertaining my own suspicions,” Peter said noncommittedly.

Instead of sudden distress on the collector’s face, a sort of slyness took its place. “Look, Agent Burke, I now live in Brentwood, and it took me a long time to attain that sought-after and glamorous address. Being part of that vaulted strata means keeping up a certain appearance. People in that neck of the woods judge you by your worth. Perhaps it is sometimes all a façade, but people do perceive what they want to see, and that’s all that’s important. The hyped-up publicity from this event will firmly attest that I now own something rare and very valuable, a one of a kind item, even if it’s not a certain _specific_ item. So, that gives me quite a bit of prestige in my new world. Now, I certainly wouldn’t want to upset the applecart, nor do I wish you to do so.”

“So, are you saying that you really don’t want to know if what you just bought for millions may be a fake?” Peter asked incredulously.

“Ah, Agent Burke, lighten up,” the guy smiled deviously. “It’s all good. There’s an old saying that I particularly favor. _‘Ignorance is bliss,’ _and right now I’m extremely blissful, so please don’t rain on my parade!”

The California man then brushed past Peter and Neal and made his exit while a young con man fought to hide his smile. However, he couldn’t help firing a teasing salvo across the bow of Peter’s sinking ship.

“You should certainly embrace that wise concept, Peter, especially when it comes to me and Mozzie. It may even bring a little bit of bliss into your own stressful life!”

**Author's Note:**

> When I pulled up a picture of that exact DeWitt Clinton Rainbow Note on Google, I guess I’m a bit weird, but I swear I saw some likeness to Mozzie minus his glasses and with a receding hairline.


End file.
